


Bothersome Cuddles

by ImJustVerable



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Also its raining, And he just really loves his angel, And his angel really loves him, And its just kinda a good time, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Basically Crowley is feeling drunk and insecure, Crowley's been drinking, Domestic Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Softie Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 08:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20288665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImJustVerable/pseuds/ImJustVerable
Summary: It's a rainy day in Soho, London. And while humans scurry around for cover, an Angel and a Demon are relaxing in the back of a bookshop. That is, until the demon finds himself needing a little love reassurance.





	Bothersome Cuddles

It's a rather gloomy day in Soho, London. Rain pours down in heavy waves, turning the streets into shallow rivers. Residents who are forced to walk home scramble along at a rapid pace; those who drive crawl around corners and through traffic, watching as the water is thrown up from beneath their tires. Anyone who doesn’t need to be out, isn’t. Thunder and lightning fill the sky, making the more uneducated person wonder if Heaven is having a rave party, with loud booming music and intense flashing lights; but of course, that's silly. Heaven doesn't throw rave parties. Or, any type of party really. Anything of that sort has always been Hell’s doing. 

This is all besides the point, however. The point is, that a storm this bad has not hit since the day of the end of the world (that is, the end that never came). And although the more anxious resident might fear a flood, it really is only a storm. 

Moving on to the corner of a usually bustling street, there rests a quiet bookshop, whose large windows supply a warm glimmer to the puddled walkway outside. But, although the lights are on, the sign on the door strictly reads 'closed'. This is because the owner of said bookshop, has absolutely no plans to offer shelter to  _ any _ number of sopping wet humans, who would no doubt bring nothing but mold and torn pages to his fragile collection. No, no humans would not be entering the shop tonight. It holds shelter to only two inhabitants now; one demon-who had gotten himself rather drunk over the course of the past couple hours- and one angel- who was sitting peacefully, reading aloud to his partner. 

Take note of the ‘ _ was’ _ . 

"Aaaannngeeeelllll!" 

Both entities had been- up until Crowley’s exclamation- lounging peacefully. The sudden call to attention causes Aziraphale to pause his reading; his eyes skimming over the top of his book to the sprawled out demon. Seeing nothing much amis, he silently returns to the words on the page. 

"Aaaaanngeeeelll...Don-  _ hick _ \- don't g'norme A-  _ hick _ \- Angel..." Some small corner of Aziraphale wants to laugh at the uncontrollable hiccups punctuating Crowley's speech. Shoving that part of him into a dark corner, he instead quirks an eyebrow, tracking the clumsy man as he rolls off the couch, landing with a hefty ' _ thwump' _ on the floor. Very graceful. 

"Having issues, are we my dear?"

"S…'s cold. M' cold Angel…"

"Cold? Crowley, how on earth can you be cold?" In his own opinion, Aziraphale actually thought it was quite toasty in the shop, "Perhaps you should sober up a bit dearest. You're quite out of it."

"M'not…I'ssss cold…" His words slurred beyond belief, the demon sits himself upright and looks towards the blonde, arms out-stretched, golden eyes pleading. “Cuddle me?”

At this point, Aziraphale can’t help but be a little shocked. As it is, Crowley had never outright  _ asked _ to be held before. He never asked for any sort of affection really. If he ever wanted to be close to his angel, then he would simply seek him out and wrap around him from behind-- once, literally, having taken his snake form and noodled himself around Aziraphale’s stomach. That had been a particularly vicious winter, leaving the cold-blooded demon very desperate for warmth (and Aziraphale overwhelmed by the waves of love radiating off of his companion). 

Looking at things from the other side, should the  _ angel _ find himself longing for the  _ demon's _ attention, he need only give Crowley a certain look. A look not dissimilar from the one he had given during when a paintball had stained his jacket; or during their time watching Shakespeare plays at the Globe t

Theatre. And as they move farther away from the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, the frequency of those looks continued to grow. For some reason, having the shop entirely to himself no longer holds the appeal it once did, meaning the redhead was never far off.

Keeping all this in mind, it should be known that the angel’s next response is formulated not with distaste towards the idea of cuddling. Rather, it is with the knowledge that the drunken man would be angry with himself later on- when he is of right mind- if he discovered that he’d been begging for attention. 

“I will not indulge you while you’re drunk Crowley. Besides, I’m reading.”

“Aawwww, c’mon Azzy... Don’t be sssuch a-  _ hic _ \- a sssspoilssport. You know you  _ looooove  _ me.”

“ _ His hiss is coming through. The dear boy really has drowned himself in alcohol, hasn’t he? I wonder if something has upset him? Also, Azzy? That’s new.”  _ Aziraphale doesn’t voice these thoughts. Instead, he says aloud-

“I do love you dear. However, that has nothing to do with-Oh!”

He cuts off. Crowley had miracled behind him quite suddenly, throwing his long arms over the back of the couch and around Aziraphale’s neck. The poor angel can’t do anything about the blush creeping higher up his cheeks, nor the warmth flooding his chest, as the demon buries his face into the crook of his neck. Auburn hair tickles his cheek as he is nuzzled relentlessly, trapped in place by Crowley’s embrace.

“C-Crowley!” Aziraphale squeaks. This forward behavior is really starting to throw him off balance. 

"Mmm...s'nice...waaarrmmmm Angel...my-  _ hick _ \- my ssssssoft Angel…” The ginger hisses sweetly into his ear, and the angel can’t help but melt into the sunny feeling that drowns the air. 

"Oh…really now, you old serpent.." It was meant to be a playful reprimand, but came out in a wistful sigh. 

See, everyone knows that angels have the ability to sense love when they’re in the vicinity of it. But what some may not realize is that love, to an angel, can present itself in a variety of ways. Most people know and imagine love as feeling cozy and comfortable. Like being wrapped in a hug: a big bear hug that may be just a bit too tight, but you really don’t mind because you really love the person who’s currently squeezing the air from your lungs. And in many cases, that is true. But love can also feel like a crisp autumn day; like the satisfying crunch of shedded leaves beneath strolling feet, and the lulling rustle of dry reeds in the wind. It can feel like stepping into an air conditioned building after being out in the sweltering heat; instantly refreshing, and something one wants to just lay down and embrace. Or, it can feel like a beautiful spring day, complete with clear puffy clouds, nature’s vibrant colors, and the perfect occasional breeze; it's a warmth so lovely that it can make the skin prickle, and is meant to be enjoyed until the very end. 

That last sort is exactly what Aziraphale experiences every time Crowley is nearby. The demon's love is everything new and brilliant and unpredictably beautiful. It is those fault-less spring days, bringing hope to his angel's world after a miserable, unforgiving winter. Each tender whisper and gentle touch brings another bud of confidence into his garden. Every patient kiss and protective embrace allows those buds to sprout into the flowers of affection. Remarkable things, those flowers, always in the back of Aziraphale’s mind. 

They’re there now as he glances briefly at his book, miracled onto the side table sometime during Crowley's onslaught of adoration. A few seconds pass...and then a small huff, paired with a loving smile. 

"Very well then, you stubborn fiend. Come here.” 

“Woo~!” At the resignation, Crowley jerks his head up and beams; before all but throwing himself over the back of the couch. Rather  _ miraculously _ , he doesn’t land on the floor, but instead, tumbles perfectly so that his head is level with Aziraphale’s stomach, against which he chooses to rest his cheek. And like a child clinging to their favorite toy, his uncoordinated arms take to hugging his partner’s waist. “ L-  _ hick _ \- love my angel...love...love  _ you!  _ Y’r my angel.”

Loosening his grip, Crowley wiggles around a bit in a weak attempt to reposition himself, and eventually ends up lying across Aziraphale’s lap, dark glasses crooked on his face after the endeavor. 

“You are mine...arn’t ya ‘Ziraphale?” Wide and dazed sunflower eyes gaze up at him with intense hope and fear. One hand tightly clutches the front of his blue plaid pajama top, as if the ginger is afraid he’ll fall if he lets go. His tension remains until Aziraphale nods and pushes back some fiery locks from his face. 

"What a silly question...of course dear boy. Yours, forever and always." 

The demon’s expression jumps from somber and worried to pure elation. His nose wrinkles in a cute fashion, eyes squinting as his smile splits across his face. Looking away from Aziraphale, he instead turns to stare up at the ceiling. His free hand balls into a fist, which he shakes victoriously at the sky. 

“YA HEAR THAT GOD? HE’SSSSS MINE! CAN’T TAKE ‘IM BACK FROM ME!” Crowley shouts so loudly that a few strangling Londoners passing by the front door take pause for a moment, wondering if they should be concerned about the sound of a madman screaming inside a bookshop-- and then, in proper fashion, have their attention redirected to the rain, and hurry on their way. Poor Aziraphale, trapped as he is with Crowley on his lap, can only recoil slightly and press a silencing finger to his lips. 

“Now now darling. Best to not challenge Her. Luck is upon us that She hasn’t smitten us already.”

“Oh I’m smitten alright!” Crowley throws his arms up into the air, and sings to an unknowable tune inside his head. “ _ I’m smitten with you~” _

The angel’s round cheeks pinken as he stares adoringly at his demon, who continues to hum along to whatever song is in his head. At this point, it's all he can do to not lie down with Crowley and kiss him senseless (that is, if he weren’t already madly drunk). He doesn’t, however, try to stop himself as he reaches out to comb his fingers through the wild red hair, noting how his lover instantaneously goes silent at the touch. The already loose-limbed man all but melts into the easy movement, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted in a breathless sigh. He shudders at the electric sensations trickling down his spine. By the time Aziraphale speaks again, Crowley is barely coherent enough to register his words. 

“And I with you my dear. And I with you.”

***

( _ The next morning) _

Sunlight, bright and beautiful and blinding, swarms through the many windows of an old bookshop seemingly frozen in time at a corner in Soho, London. Dust dances and sways in the golden rays to the song of the early morning birds. 

The outside world sparkles under the appraising light of a new day’s sun, dew-coated grass glimmering as if each blade was laced with diamonds. Shop owners trudge sleepily through the doors of their establishments, just bringing to life the kitchens that will soon be crowded and bustling. Somewhere a church bell tolls...once...twice...then three, four, five times. All the humans still lost to their slumber only roll over in their covers. 

Hidden away amongst shelves, sprawled out on a couch in a back room, an angel and a demon are in quite the same position. Seemingly dead to the world as they're wrapped in each others arms. The angel is trapped between the back cushions and his partner, whose upper half is curled up against his chest. Towheaded curls are left in a mess of stuck up, static-charged coils, their usual sense or order long lost. 

The demon, with his head tucked under his angel's chin, takes in a deep, contented breath. He'd woken up once in the night, just to miracle away the major hangover wracking his system. In those few minutes, the events of the night had revealed themselves to him with a rushing clarity. A heavy blush had blossomed across his entire face as he looked down upon the angel, who had somehow ended up beneath him. 

" _ ...forever and always, eh Angel? Hmm...think I might just hold you to that one." _

The fuzzy thought is to be the last thing he'll recall later on; as the two wake and spend several flustered minutes trying to explain themselves, before finally giving in to their emotions and spending a good portion of the day napping on the sofa.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Crawling out of my rut once more, now with this little piece in hand. Am I obsessed with these two? Possibly. Will I be writing about them until the day I die? Almost definitely. But in all honesty, I'm kinda happy with myself for finishing this, and seeing as I'm sorta struggling with words right now, I think it turned out alright. Still, I'm sorry if it's just a little sloppy, and I hope you guys enjoy!!!


End file.
